A Drink
by Avina Garamond
Summary: Vincent wakes in an alley. Lost for company, he accepts a drink at Dante's house. Fun ensues.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII, Devil May Cry, or any of the characters

Enjoy

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Rain

Rain...

It was raining...

Dimly, Vincent Valentine opened his eyes. Rain splashed onto his bare face. A drop fell into his unblinking eye, waking him from his stupor. He had been sitting on a crate, hunched, and unthinking. He looked downwards. His gun was laying on the ground, waiting for him. He picked it up. Faint scattered memories floated to the surface of his mind.

A stab in the back.

A fist fight.

A needle in his vein.

A bloody sword.

A wish for death.

Wait... his own, or someone else's?

He didn't understand. He couldn't remember. Someone hurt him, someone drugged him, and he dragged himself here for protection. Vincent Valentine, hero and monster, stood to his full height. His bones cracked as they fell back into place. Rain splattered down on him, creating a bloody pool at his feet.

He walked. He walked the streets of Midgar, in the rain, at gods know what hour. Something brought him to a fairly large house, or perhaps a small mansion. Vincent looked through the railing and sighed. A lost lover lived in that house. Someone whom he loved very much. Someone who used him, and left him to be, and broke his heart. Again. Just like his mother. Vincent shook his head and trotted down the street, away from the memories. Away. Away. Away.

_Smack!_

Vincent jumped back onto his feet, gun ready, aimed to kill. A familiar face broke into a smile.

"Dante?"

Dante relaxed and sheathed his sword back into its scabbard.

"Vincent Valentine. Running from demons?"

"Demons run from me," Vincent answered. He continued, now walking, in an unknown direction. Dante fell into step with him.

"Something on your mind, vampire?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I am wholly apathetic."

"You're talkative."

"You're surprisingly silent."

They continued to walk together in the same direction.

"You know, my house is near here. Wanna drink?" Dante asked.

"A drink with you is an invitation to sleep with you," Vincent stated. Dante smirked.

"Do you accept?"

Vincent said nothing. He was too stunned that Dante admitted plainly what a drink at his house meant. In a few blocks, he felt his hand being tugged to the right. He looked up to see Dante winking at him. He let himself be led into a dirty apartment.

Dirty was a modest word for it. It was dark, it stank of old pizza, and a layer of dust covered everything. Vincent heard dust mites in the bed and termites in the wood. The curtains were rotting shreds. He glanced at Dante who took off his shirt, flexing his taunt pectorals. Vincent looked down Dante's chest, critiquing Dante's abdominal muscles. The six pack was visibly there, but of course, the pizza was a bad influence on his body.

Dante splashed a shot of cheap tequila into an unwashed glass and gave it to Vincent.

"You came here for a drink, right?" Vincent looked at him and put the glass down.

"Right," he answered. Dante smirked. He walked closer to Vincent, slowly, so not to scare the man off. But Vincent was not easily scared, and glared at him through lowered eye lashes. Dante became more daring, carelessly unbuckling Vincent's cloak. It hung on his shoulders unmoving. Vincent smiled.

"Are you afraid to touch me?" he asked, shrugging the cloak off. It fell to the ground, pooling around his ankles as if that same pool of blood he stood in less than an hour ago.

"Maybe. Vampire. You'll bite my fingers off." Vincent scoffed. He crossed his arms and gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled upwards, buckles and all. He tossed his shirt on his cloak.

"Feel better?" he asked Dante. Dante said nothing, eying Vincent's chest with lustful interest. Vincent kicked his shoes off. They fell next to the shirt. The gun followed. Dante's eyes followed Vincent's hands as they unbuckled his belts. Suddenly, the pants fell down, clinking with metal. Dante smirked. Vincent wore pants that were enormous for his bony hips, and didn't stay up unless with a belt or three. The bandanna floated to the ground to settle on the heap of belts and buckles, and finally, the boxers slid down Vincent's bare skinny legs.

"Are you going to stand there and stare?" Vincent asked. Dante looked up at his face.

"You don't look impressive quite yet," Dante said.

"I'm not jerking off to you if that's what you want," Vincent snapped, a bit too harshly. There was only one person... or two people that he did whatever they asked for, no matter what sacrifices his dignity had to go through.

Dante laughed.

"Alright. I'll do the dirty work." He undressed, simply and efficiently. "Lay down." Vincent consented. He lay on the bed, not splayed, not straight as a board, relaxed. Dante nuzzled his chest. He took Vincent's nipples between his fingers.

"I want them to go..." He tweaked them, and the nipples stood up proudly, wanting attention "...up."

Vincent growled. Dante dipped his head down, tongue snaking around a perked nipple. He twirled the nub with his tongue, flicking over it a few times. He looked at Vincent's face. Vincent's eyes were closed, his lips parted a little; the soft whisper of rushing air signified quiet panting. Dante smirked and let his tongue slip downward, outlining his sculpted abdomen. Not as prominent as Dante's, but stiff as stone. Dante's tongue slipped down into his navel.

Vincent gasped. Dante smirked. He dipped his tongue into Vincent's navel again, earning another gasp. Dante lowered his head again, letting his tongue tangle into Vincent's pubic hair.

"Nngah!" The moan was soft and short, but audible in the quiet apartment.

"Feel good?"

"Shut up."

Dante licked the length of Vincent's cock, delighting in the soft panting he heard above him. His tongue darted over a throbbing vein. He almost swore he heard a whimper. Dante smiled. What he was about to do might potentially get him killed... or it could be the best thing Vincent ever felt in his life.

His lips trailed up and down the cock, before opening, and... Dante gave Vincent a sharp nip.

The cry echoed through out the room. Vincent bucked himself forward, hand pulling Dante's head off of him. His now leaking member prodded him in the stomach. Dante smirked at him, knowing that the cry was not of pain or fury. Vincent glared at him.

"Just don't do that again."

Dante consented, only using his teeth to softly nibble Vincent's length. Vincent sighed, content. He felt himself drip onto his stomach. Dante, as if reading Vincent's mind, licked his stomach clean, savoring the bitter salty taste of Vincent.

Unknown to Vincent, Dante's hands were not laying still, but searching for a tub of lubricant that should have been... there, on the bedside table, hiding behind the lamp. His fingers dipped in the thick gel, scooping out a generous portion.

Dante breathed a puff of air on the tip of Vincent's cock, and inserted a thick, gel-covered finger into Vincent's opening. Vincent... didn't react. Dante smirked.

"What? Used to this, vampire?"

"If you're going to fuck, stop talking."

Dante chuckled, evilly. Since one finger didn't bring much reaction, maybe two? There we go. The anus contracted around Dante's fingers, then forcefully relaxed. Dante pulled his fingers in and out experimentally. Vincent wasn't too tight, just a little. He inserted a third finger.

"Finally."

Dante shot Vincent a glare.

"Shut up, vampire. You talk too much." He twisted his three fingers and curled them towards Vincent's belly.

An electric shock passed through Vincent's body. His lips opened into a full moan. Dante smirked.

"Like that, vampire?"

"Shut up!"

Dante stroked that sweet spot inside Vincent, earning more gasps and moans. Vincent squirmed, impaling himself on Dante's fingers, seeking more contact. Dante's fingers curled... and didn't uncurl, molesting and rubbing Vincent's prostate alternating between the pads of his fingers and his sharp fingernails.

Vincent cried out, not liking the sharp contact with his prostate, but growing more aroused because of it. He was a masochist to his utter shame. Dante snickered. He took his fingers out and stroked himself in front of Vincent.

"What, you couldn't do this?" Dante asked, spreading gel on his own cock. Vincent watched him. Dante lowered himself upon Vincent, dick poking against Vincent's entrance. He pushed in.

Vincent stiffened, then relaxed. He realized Dante stopped moving.

"Move."

"What?"

"Move, damn you." Dante pulled out, and thrust.

Vincent's body was gorgeous in the throes of ecstasy. His back arched, his hair fanned out all over the pillow in ribbons and spikes, his pale lips opened and showed his pearly canines as he moaned. His stomach muscles contracted, rippling and flexing. Pale legs clutched Dante's hips.

Dante nipped Vincent's neck and shoulders. Neither dared kiss the other. This was not love after all...

Vincent clenched the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms and made them bleed. His back arched at a near impossible angle, and his cry echoed throughout the apartment. He came hard, splattering cum all over his and Dante's chest and stomach.

Dante grunted. His thrust was stopped in the middle as Vincent's rectum squeezed him. It almost hurt, and Dante came. Vincent whimpered, as he felt hot sticky liquid flow into his innermost parts.

Dante pulled out. Vincent sat up and leaned on the headboard of Dante's bed.

"You don't snuggle?" Dante asked, laughing.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Vincent asked. Dante rummaged in his drawers and pulled out a pack. Vincent took one and stuck it between his teeth. Dante lit it for him and he took a long luxurious drag. He exhaled a stream of smoke from his lips.

"I didn't think you smoked," Dante said. Vincent didn't answer.

"Oh, so now you don't talk," Dante growled. Vincent again didn't answer, just puffed on his cigarette until it went out. He crushed it against his hand, not feeling the burn that should have been there.

"What now?" Dante asked.

"I leave."

"No kiss goodbye?"

"No.."

"Afraid?"

"Not your business."

"Afraid of a relationship?"

"I don't want one. I had one, it sucked. Had another, it sucked. I don't want one."

"So... this was a one night stand?"

"Are you saying you wanted a relationship from me?"

"No... I wanted a one night stand, like you wanted."

"Then shut up." Vincent stood up and dressed. Dante watched him swing his cape on and buckle it then watched his one night lover leave.

It was still raining outside. Vincent looked up, rain splattering onto his bare face. For the first time in a long time... he felt lonely. He started running, away, away, away. Away from one night stands, away from relationships, away from lovers. He didn't need them. He shouldn't want them. He ran into an alley. Dimly, he realized it was the same alley he had run out of a few hours ago. He took his gun in hand. Held it to his head. And pulled the trigger.

Vincent Valentine, war hero, died by suicide in an abandoned alley, alone, and forgotten.

Except by one person.

Dante looked at Vincent's gravestone. A gravestone he shouldn't have had. He stroked the carved name gently and turned around.

"You know, you could pay him some respect. He was your lover too."

"I'm here to stop your nagging," Sephiroth bit out. "He meant nothing to me." He turned around and left the gravesite. Dante shook his head.

"Am I the only one that loved him?" He stared into the deep blue of the sky above. He too left the graveyard, leaving Vincent to rest peacefully in his coffin. Dead, or maybe sleeping, he would stay there while life would move on. But Dante would visit that grave for the rest of his life, as faithfully as Vincent visited Lucrecia.


End file.
